[It was a surreal experience, being inside any bar at all. He looked over those in attendance, surprised somewhat by the diversity of them. There was no lower class versus upper class distinguishment here; there were just local people and the various stripes they came in. None of the soldiers seemed to recognize the uniform as being a sign they should open fire, and he let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. All of this was unfamiliar territory, and in a way that was a little exciting, not that he'd ever admit it.
He would've objected to vodka if he'd been able to speak, but he was struck with the newness of everything. The music crooning out from the radio muffled by the din of people talking, the colors both vivid and faded all around him, the general relaxed atmosphere all sort of descended upon him at once, and he found himself taking the glass with no objections, smiling a rare soft smile as he looked at Raikov, who in this light had lost all of the initial glare he'd leveled at Philip and instead seemed just as charming as any man the German had ever known.]
They're not the only ones who seem friendly. Davai! ...whatever that means! [And he clinked his glass against Raikov's.]
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